women like that don't become mystery writers
by FanficwriterGHC
Summary: A co-written story by liviafan1 and Fanficwriterghc. A writer's blocked, post-Derrick Storm Castle meets Kate Beckett, a rising young mystery novelist acquired by Black Pawn to replace him. Despite their instant dislike of each other, they are given a month to co-write Black Pawn's next bestseller, or lose their advances, and possibly their jobs.
1. Chapter 1

**women like that don't become myster writers**

**Disclaimer: We'd like to graduate from college, please.**

**A co-written story from liviafan1 and FanficwriterGHC**

* * *

**Chapter 1:**

He smiles at the photographers hidden behind flashbulbs; he's all smirk and little sincerity. A simple facade, an unwritten clause in his job description. One he can't really afford to deviate from - not since his lack of inspiration has led his fingers to seize over the keyboard, his creative brain freezing in the worst bout of writer's block he's ever had.

It gets worse with each passing day, another twenty-four hours wasted, another knot of pressure tightening around him, squeezing the creative juices away.

The innumerable phone calls from his blood-sucking ex-wife don't help, either.

Speaking of blood-sucking.

Gina slinks an arm around his waist, a glaring smile at the ready as she poses for the press. The same pose she'd stood in at their wedding. All business, even then.

"You could try and look a little less like you're at the dentist, you know," she says through clenched teeth, waggling her fingers at a photog with the toss of her head.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he replies, leading them toward the bar, away from the all the hubbub.

He's gonna need a drink (or three) of something tall and stiff if he's going to survive the night. He cranes his neck to check on Alexis, who sure enough, is sitting at the end of the bar, nose in a book, blissful as she turns a blind eye to the glitz and glamour.

He's a little jealous. He takes the drink gratefully and turns back to his babbling ex-wife.

"What'd I'd like is for you to do what you've been paid to do, but since that seems to be a little out of your reach right now - "

He freezes, the cold glass of Scotch nearly at his lips. "What have you done?"

She folds her arms across her chest. "Nothing that couldn't have been avoided if you hadn't killed off Storm or handed in your manuscript by the deadline."

"You didn't sneak in a rewrite before it made it to press, did you?" he half-jokes. He's not entirely sure he'd put it past her, not with her career on the line, too.

"No. Though you might be wishing for that after I introduce you to your next project." She lifts herself to her tip toes, waves a long finger in the air, beckoning to a stranger in the crowd. He whirls around, but the crowd is too large and he has no idea what - or who - he's looking for.

"You'll thank me for this one day," she promises.

He takes a long sip of his drink. "Somehow I doubt that."

As he scans the crowd, his eyes lock with a stunning brunette, all lithe and gorgeous in a tight emerald dress that brings out the light flecks in her eyes. He chokes a little on his drink as he notices her smirking at his obvious perusal when she stalks toward him, powerful and confident in a killer pair of stilettos.

Maybe if he plays his cards right, he can sneak away from Gina and whatever plan she's cooked up. Charm the mysterious stranger and slip away from the crowd, creatures of the night.

He clumsily sits his glass down, swallowing hard as she finally reaches the bar. He opens his mouth, a smooth line at the ready, when -

"I'm so glad you could make it, Kate," Gina says, wrapping the stranger in loose one-armed hug.

But - no. She -

She was his. He wanted to -

_Oh, fuck._

"And I believe you've heard of Rick?" Gina smirks at him and - yeah. He was _so _caught earlier. And now she's really enjoying this.

"Katherine Beckett," Kate greets him warmly, eyes sparkling mischievously. Busted.

He takes her offered hand, her long slender fingers wrapping around his palm firmly. His mind drifts to the other parts of his anatomy that he wouldn't mind -

"Kate just signed a new contract with Black Pawn this morning."

He lifts his eyebrows, distracted by her bright smile, the way the flush creeps up her neck at Gina's words. "A contract?"

"I'm a mystery novelist," Kate interjects.

She -

_What?_

"We snagged her from a little publishing company outside the city, her talent wasting away in limited promotions and releases."

Kate ducks her head shyly and it would be one of the most adorable things he's ever seen if he wasn't rendered speechless.

"I've never heard of you," he blurts out stupidly.

Her head lifts sharply to his, the light in her eyes dimming. "I've written ten books, Mr. Castle. The critics love me. And now that I've joined forces with Black Pawn," She shoots Gina a grateful smile, "It would probably be wise for you to learn my name." She pauses, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. "Because you'll probably be hearing it a lot soon."

Oh. So she's shy _and _feisty.

He likes it.

"I've set up a business lunch for the two of you tomorrow, Rick. It's really important that you get to know each other," Gina says cryptically.

Yes. Biblically, he hopes.

"On a professional basis," she adds, shooting him a knowing look. "I've sent a copy of her latest manuscript to your apartment."

"I didn't know editing was in my job description," he jokes.

"It isn't. But since you haven't produced anything remotely usable in the last few months, _mentoring _might be in your job description."

He scoffs. "You want _me _to mentor _her_?"

Gina sighs. "Notes. Feedback. Appealing to a broader audience. She's got the goods, Rick. And they might even be better than yours."

He doesn't miss the low chuckle that Kate tries to hide behind her hand.

Gina smiles tightly, patting him on the shoulder. "I'll leave you two to chat."

She saunters off, making great overtures to everyone she passes, playing the crowd.

He watches her go, half in anger, half in awe. For whatever she's just left him in, she's shrewdly manipulative, and damn, but it's impressive even when he wants to throttle her.

And he does. Because the Amazonian goddess next to him is eyeing him like she knows all his secrets.

Better than his. _Better_ than his.

Yeah. Right. This woman, a famous murder mystery novelist?

"They throw a good party," she says, bringing him back to the roof and away from his surprisingly kinky fantasies.

He wonders if she'd be a tied up kind of girl.

But that would take finesse, and it seems he's all out of that at the moment.

"Yes, it's one of Gina's specialties."

"It's a little...flashy," she continues.

"Part of the sell."

"If you need that kind of thing."

He shoots her a look and finds her with her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, smug. It's irritatingly fetching on her.

"Once you get to a certain point, it's all dressing, making a great thing fabulous."

"And is that what you sell, Mr. Castle, fabulous flash?" she asks, cocking her head, a spark in her eye.

She wants to play? He can play. He can play all night. "You tell me, Miss Beckett."

She rolls her eyes and taps the bar, shooting the bartender a pretty smile. He grins and pours her a shot of whisky, straight.

Castle watches the way she wraps her fingers around it, the curve of her hand around the glass as it comes to her lips, the smooth swallow of her throat, like she's knocking back water.

It takes him a moment to realize she's asked him a question.

"Sorry?" he gets out, only to receive another one of those pleased, proud looks from her.

He really needs to find some of that blood and get it flowing back up in the other direction.

"Tomorrow. Do you have a preference or should we let Gina pick the place?"

"Oh, right. That. The _mentoring_ meeting," he replies, feeling it trip off his tongue like acid.

Her posture changes, all that subtle openness dissolving as she straightens her spine, uncocks her hip, tightens her hold on her drink.

"If it's too much of an imposition to you, Mr. Castle, I'm sure Gina could find someone with more...time on their hands."

He opens his mouth, about to tell her just what kind of time he has, but Gina catches his eye across the crowd. That look brokers no resistance.

He really can't afford another screaming match at her office, and the money besides.

"No, no, I can make time to teach you the ropes, Beckett," he decides, plastering on some confidence, and maybe a little smarm.

She blinks something back at the sight of his "ass charming smile," as his mother put it once. She _likes_ it. More than she wants to, apparently.

"I'm sure it won't take long," she says before taking another swig.

"Oh, I don't know. There's a lot to teach a rookie, you know."

She takes a step toward him, eyes glinting. Ooh, he's struck a little nerve then, hasn't he?

"Just how many books have you put out in the last year, Castle? Two, three? Or was it one, six months overdue?"

She signed this morning, right?

Surely Gina isn't that - well, no, she would, wouldn't she?

He narrows his eyes to cover his shock and takes his own step. She's nearly his height in those monster heels.

"Four, if you must know," he says, going for a stoic disinterest.

"Ah. My mistake. Four months overdue."

And she didn't take the bait, either. Damn.

"And how many have you put out this year with that charming little publisher upstate?" he asks.

"Two, and the third is sitting on your kitchen counter," she says without preamble.

"Impressive," he allows, giving her a nod. "That said, it doesn't mean you know anything about the big leagues."

"You'll find, Castle, that I can more than splash in the deep end. I'll be diving in a few months, swimming right by as you tread water."

"Oh you will?"

"I will."

They stare at each other for a long moment. He can feel the heat of her body calling out to him as they stand nearly chest to chest. He forces his eyes to stay on hers, no difficult task, really - but her cleavage - and stands his ground.

"Remy's, 3:30, tomorrow," she says, and he swears her voice is breathier than it was a minute ago.

"Remy's?" he asks, and he catches her as her eyes flick to his lips.

Huh. Well then.

"I'll have Gina send you the address," she says quickly. "Goodnight, Mr. Castle."

And with that, she whirls around, leaving him alone at the bar at his own book party, watching her ass as she walks away.

Damn.


	2. Chapter 2

**women like that don't become mystery writers**

**Disclaimer: We'd like to graduate from college, please.**

**A co-written story from Liviafan1 and FanficwriterGHC**

* * *

**Chapter 2:**

It's late when he gets home, beyond any desired hour to go to sleep, but he's too wired. He'd sent his mother and daughter home hours ago and finds them now passed out on the couch, the television flickering softly in front of them. He kisses their heads - no heart to wake them just yet - and tosses his jacket over a chair before he heads to the kitchen for a glass of water. After he'd watched Kate walk away from him, her words ringing loud and clear in his ears, the bartender was ready and willing to ply him with the drinks of his choosing.

He's only dully buzzing by this point, but his mouth is suffering the effects of his dehydration. As the cool liquid slides down his throat, he spots an unopened package on the corner of the island.

He wonders -

Oh. Right. Her manuscript. _Kate's _manuscript.

He sets his water glass down, can't help but cater to his curiosity. The book is solid in his hands as he shuffles to his office, flicking the kitchen and living room lights off as he goes. If the two are still asleep when he heads to bed, he'll send them upstairs. But for now -

For now he reads.

(…)

"Richard?"

"Hmm?" He tears his eyes away from the page to find his Mother in the doorway, stifling a yawn behind her hands.

"It's four o'clock in the morning, darling. What are you still doing awake?"

He cards a hand through his rumpled hair, flicking his eyes to check the time. Damn. Now that she mentions it, he _is _tired, but -

The manuscript -

She'd grabbed his attention from the get-go on page one and hasn't relinquished control since. Which is quite unfortunate for him, really, but he's been too engrossed to really care.

"Just reading."

Martha smirks. "Her manuscript is good, huh?"

He sighs. "No." His head falls to his desk with a groan. "It's _great_."

"Oh, cheer up, kiddo. Just because you haven't written anything remotely remarkable in months doesn't mean - "

He silences her with a glare. "I - it just - " He hesitates. "I wasn't expecting it to be good," he admits.

"Why? Because she's a gorgeous woman who knows what she wants?"

"Yes. Women like that don't become writers, Mother, and they certainly don't become m_ystery_ novelists. She's the kind of woman that should be traveling the world and writing about it, not sitting at home behind a desk."

"Well, perhaps it's time you looked beyond your preconceived notions, Richard. It doesn't sound like this woman is going away anytime soon. And as much as I simply cannot stand that ex-wife of yours, she knows what she's doing."

He slumps his head onto his fist. "I know. And that's what worries me."

(…)

She rolls out of bed promptly at nine and gears up her laptop as she waits for her coffee to finish brewing. She keeps her eyes off her bookshelf, ignoring the way his covers seem to mock her from their shelves, well-loved jackets taunting her with all of her false hopes.

She's not going to focus on the way that his real smile matches the gleaming-toothed grin on his book jackets. Instead, she'll ignore his presence in her office. She could remove him altogether, but she's not so petty as to take the books and leave them in the living room.

Then they'll mock her from her coffee table.

No, best they stay just where they are. So he's a jerk with a complex and sexy as hell. That's nothing new. She's met plenty of men who are just as arrogant and smarmy and irritatingly attractive.

She just - she had this silly little hope that her favorite author, her _favorite author_, wouldn't be one of them.

As her background materializes, covered with stickies and notes, she shakes the ghosts of their meeting off, mentally preparing herself for lunch. She opens her email and scrolls through the few messages from friends, a spam for a piece of anatomy she doesn't have, and stops on Gina's.

_Remy's. Never heard of it. But I'll send the address along. Don't let him put you off. You're a star. He's an ass who needs a good kick in his._

_Call me after, let me know how it goes. _

Helpful.

Then again, as much as she admires Gina's tenacity, perhaps getting advice on Castle-handling from his recent ex-wife isn't the best option. She knows how to cut him down, for sure, but Kate has a feeling she herself has more in the way of charm than Gina has with Castle.

He certainly had some trouble focusing.

She grins to herself as her coffee maker beeps. He's an ass, but he's Richard Castle. And Richard Castle's eyes nearly fell out of his head as they chatted.

She'll take the confidence boost and file him away in the folder marked "look but don't touch."

His eyes glint at her from a turned copy of "Flowers for Your Grave" as she returns to her office, old, chipped mug in hand.

Look, but definitely do not touch.

The last thing she needs is another idol fallen from a pedestal. And since he's already lying in cracked pieces on the floor, best not crush him to dust with some ill-advised romantic tryst.

Her manuscript should do all the crushing for her, and maybe from the ash she'll rescue a little something for her career.

His name would look awfully good under a quote on her book jacket.

(…)

She showers and dresses after she finishes up a new set of notes, casual in a pair of dark jeans and a purple cashmere sweater. She sweeps her hair up in a twist off her neck and shoves her feet into a pair of stilettos before she's out the door, leather messenger bag slung over her shoulder.

She's running late, but she'd be lying if she said that it didn't give her a little cheap thrill - making him wait. Probably used to plenty of people waiting on _him_.

Ha. Not today, Richard Castle.

She strolls in the door about twenty minutes late, pleasantly flushed with the brush of the crisp fall air against her skin. She spots him sitting in a corner booth, looking relatively unperturbed as he fiddles with his phone. Hmm. She slides into her seat across from him and flags a waitress down as she waits for him to notice her.

"Can I just get a strawberry shake and a small plate of fries?" she asks. Castle tears his eyes away from his phone, a little confused by her sudden appearance.

"You want something?" she asks, feigning impatience.

"Uh - I don't - I've never been here before," he says, sweeping his eyes across the menu. "I guess I'll just have the same," he says, shooting the waitress a grateful smile. He glares at Kate as the waitress walks away.

"You couldn't have figured out what you wanted in the twenty minutes you were waiting for me?"

"I was waiting for you," he protests. "And thanks for that, by the way. You couldn't have called?"

She shrugs. "I don't have your number."

Without a reply, he reaches across the table and snatches her phone, tapping away effortlessly before handing it back to her. "Here. Now you do."

She lifts her eyebrows, slipping her phone into her pocket. "Okay."

There's a beat of silence as they wait each other out. He's the first one to speak. "So what's your story, anyway?"

She frowns. "My story?"

He shrugs. "Yeah. Why murder mysteries?"

"What's it to you?"

"If I'm going to mentor you, I'd like to know where you get your inspiration," he explains, as if it's so simple.

Except they both know that he has absolutely no intention of mentoring her. Just wants her to spill a few personal details, get the gears turning in his head so the creative juices will flow again.

Two can play this game, Mr. Castle.


	3. Chapter 3

**women like that don't become mystery writers**

**Disclaimer: We'd like to graduate from college, please.**

**A co-written story from Liviafan1 and FanficwriterGHC**

* * *

**Chapter 3:**

She smirks. "You first."

He sighs, rubs the back of his neck as he hesitates. "I lost someone close to me a while back."

Oh. She didn't think -

Really?

She shifts in her seat, a little uncomfortable now. "Listen. You don't have to - "

He shakes his head. "My father, he - "

She rolls her eyes. Seriously? He stops mid-sentence, has the gall to look hurt. "You don't have a father, Castle."

But he just grins, the bastard, looking like the cat who ate the canary. "So you _are _a fan." Damn. He was testing her.

"I'm a professional writer who happens to dabble in the same genre as you. Wouldn't exactly be smart of me to be unfamiliar with your work, would it?" she throws back, even as a slight blush creeps up her neck.

He leans in closer. "There's a difference between being familiar and knowing _intimate _details about my personal life."

Her fingers curl against the edge of the table as she swipes her tongue across her lips, a little thrill shooting down her spine at the way his eyes darken and dart to her mouth. "Whatever you need to tell yourself to pad that very large ego of yours, Mr. Castle."

He smirks. "My, uh, ego doesn't really need any padding, Beckett."

"Really? That's not what your ex-wife says." She laughs as the smile drops from his face. "I'm joking, Castle. God, you're easy."

"You two seem to get along well," he observes, maybe a little sourly, she can't tell.

She shrugs. "We only met a couple of weeks ago. No problems so far." She smirks. "Then again, I wasn't married to her, either. Tell me, does she make you do _everything _on a deadline?"

His retort is cut off when their waitress reappears, a tray of cold milkshakes and a couple of plates of hot fries in hand. Kate murmurs her thanks a slips a fry into her mouth, her stomach growling in anticipation. Hmm. Hungrier than she thought.

He notices, his mouth curving in amusement. "Skip out on breakfast this morning?"

"My productivity's at its best in the morning, so I usually just brew a pot of coffee," she admits.

"Impressive. I don't start 'til noon with at least a full breakfast in my stomach."

"Lot of late nights?" she asks, relishing the cool slide of the shake down her throat.

"Sometimes, depending on when the inspiration strikes me."

"Your muse has been pretty absent for the last few months, from what I hear," she hedges.

His eyebrows lift. "From what you hear?"

"It's not really a secret, you know. Your writer's block. They wouldn't have brought me in if they were satisfied with you." She winces as the words leave her mouth, not _exactly _what she meant, but he -

Yeah.

He purses his lips. "Gina tell you that?"

She frowns. "No. I think your ex-wife is more professional than that."

He snorts. "You don't know her like I do."

She folds her arms across her chest. "So it's not true, then? You _have_ been writing?"

"As a matter of fact, _yes_. I was up all night writing."

Oh. Which means -

She lets out an incredulous breath. "You didn't even touch my manuscript, did you?"

"I'm sure your book is...fine."

"_Fine?_" She huffs, tossing her napkin onto the table. "God, I don't know why I agreed to this in the first place." She shakes her head. "You're a good writer, Mr. Castle, I'll give you that. But believe it or not, you're not God's gift to the publishing world. And the sooner you figure that out, the easier it'll be to accept when I knock you off the top of the New York Times Bestseller List."

She only has a second to register the stunned look on his face before her phone buzzes with an incoming message.

Lanie.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have a crime scene to get to." She tosses a few ones onto the table and slides out without another word.

(…)

"Crime scene?" he asks, stumbling up after her and throwing a few bills on top of hers. "What crime scene?"

She keeps walking, striding more like, and he nearly gets hit with the swing of the door as he follows her out of the diner.

"What crime scene?" he repeats as he catches up with her.

She pulls her coat tightly around her and keeps walking, as if she's just going to ignore him.

Ha. Right.

"What crime scene?" he asks again, falling into step with her. Those heels make it rough for her to out-walk him. Sexy though.

"There's a body on 12th and Broadway."

"How do you know that?" he wonders, feeling his excitement level rapidly rising.

"I have a guy."

"A guy."

"Yes," she grits out as she reaches the curb, flinging her arm out for a cab.

"What, like, 'I've got a guy who can make the body disappear,' or an actual guy?"

"Because the mobile mortician wouldn't be an actual guy?" She taps her foot as she waits for a cab to meander over to them.

"A boyfriend kind of guy."

"No."

He waits, but she doesn't elaborate, choosing instead to rip the door to the cab open and slip inside.

He manages to catch the door before she can slam it shut, and quickly slides in next to her.

"What are you doing?" she hisses.

"Mentoring you."

"The hell you are."

"Miss," the Cabbie interrupts.

"You are not coming with me."

"Apparently I am," he says easily.

"No, you're not," she asserts.

"Miss." Their Cabbie does not look happy.

"12th and Broadway," Kate says irritably as she fishes her phone out of her bag.

"What, gonna call another one of your guys to pick me up?" Castle asks, feeling rather smug. It's not like she can actually push him out of the cab.

"Better," she says, her eyes glinting as she holds the phone up to her ear. "Yes, Gina Cowell please."

He feels his jaw go a little slack. Oh, that is low. That's -

"That's pathetic," he lets out.

Kate merely arches an eyebrow. "Hi, Gina. Yes, we've had lunch. Actually, I have a favor to ask. Castle seems to think his 'mentorship' gives him an all access pass to my connections." She smirks at him as he glares at her. "What?"

Oh, that looks a little more promising.

"No. No, I just—of course not," she says quickly.

He grins. He can't hear Gina, but he knows that look—a little caught, a little defensive—like a fifth grader getting a dressing down from their least favorite teacher. He's a pro at that one.

"No, I didn't invite him. He followed me like some sort of neurotic puppy."

"Hey," he says as she rolls her eyes at him.

"Of course. Here he is."

That's—that's just not a good sign.

He reluctantly takes the phone from her, trying all the while to look smug. She was his publisher first. And ex-wife, his brain mutinously reminds him.

"Gina," he greets, giving Kate his best smile.

"You're stalking her to a crime scene?"

"I hardly think sitting companionably in a cab I plan to pay for counts as stalking, thanks."

Kate glares and immediately starts rummaging in her purse.

"You can't just crash her sources without asking. You're supposed to be representing us in a good light."

"I am. I'm offering my expertise and well trained eye."

Kate snorts, not making any effort at all to conceal it behind a cough. He narrows his eyes at her and she merely smiles back.

"You wanted me to mentor her. I'm mentoring. Or do you want to change your mind?" he says, feeling like he can almost see that vein popping out of her forehead across the line.

"He's hardly mentoring me," Kate says, loud enough to carry.

"Because she feels she's above my help," he adds quickly. "Good enough to play in the big leagues with one home run under her belt."

"Ten," Kate bites back.

"Enough," Gina barks. It rings out of the phone. "Put me on speaker."

He hits the button reluctantly.

"I am not your mother, your babysitter, or your wife," she begins, the last word coming out with a bit of a sting. "And I won't be your peace-keeper either. Kate, Rick knows the business, and he knows it better than you."

He smirks as Kate bites at her lip, looking mutinous.

"And Rick, Kate could easily top you, and she can probably do it without your help." Kate goes to grin. "But, she could also slip up and be off our roster in a second."

Well damn.

"Let him come to your scene, you might learn something," Gina decides. "And Rick, behave, or I'll bring you in to sort through your own fanmail."

They sit there, glaring away from each other.

"If you can't get along, I'll be forced to take drastic measures."

Drastic measures? He catches Kate mouthing it out of the corner of his eye.

"Like what?" he asks. She meets his eyes, equally wary.

"Like making you write your next book, together."

"You wouldn't," he says immediately.

"Gina—"

"Actually, you know what? I like it. No, I love it."

"Wait a second," Kate puts in.

"Kate, your manuscript is great, but you're still relatively unknown. Releasing a co-written book with Richard Castle first would be a huge jump for your career."

"I don't need his name," she says instantly.

"And I don't need her to help me write a book. I've had thirteen bestsellers all by myself, thank you," he adds.

No way in hell are they doing anything together. Except going to this crime scene. And maybe to his bed sometime.

"You need his name, and you need a manuscript, Rick," Gina says definitively. "You've got a month."

"A month?" they exclaim together.

At least they're on the same page.

"That'll put you four months behind, Richard," Gina says, and the ice in her voice is palpable. Even the Cabbie flinches. "And Kate, you want Black Pawn, don't you?"

"It's write a book with him or be dropped?" she asks, her eyes wide.

"Yes," Gina chirps.

That's – even he'll admit that's harsh.

This sucks.

"Now, go to your crime scene, get some gory inspiration, and call me when you've got two chapters-" they both go to interject, "-and not a moment sooner, or I'll cut both your advances."

Sufficiently cowed, they close their mouths.

She's kind of cute when she's sulking, all pouty lips and disgruntled eyes.

No. Focus, man.

"Happy murder hunting."

The phone clicks off.

The bitch.


	4. Chapter 4

**women like that don't become mystery writers**

**Disclaimer: Actually, screw graduation. We would love jobs. Jobs are cool.**

**A co-written story from Liviafan1 and FanficwriterGHC**

* * *

**Chapter 4:**

She tosses the cabbie a few bills and almost manages to shut the door on him, but he slips out in time, hot on her heels as she pounds the pavement, doing her best to ignore him.

"Did your guy give you any details? COD? TOD?" he asks, blue eyes sparkling with excitement.

She wonders if he's trying to impress her with his extensive crime scene knowledge. And maybe if she couldn't already picture the smug smile on his face, she'd tell him that he doesn't need to impress her because she'd fallen for his writing a long time ago.

But she doesn't.

"No," she replies simply.

"Is that a 'No, shut the hell up, Castle,' or a 'No, he actually doesn't have any details?'"

She stops on the sidewalk, shoots him a glare. "No details, Castle. I got the info before she got to the scene," she explains with the roll of her eyes before she resumes her pace.

"_She?_ Your guy is a girl?" he asks, surprised.

"Her name's Lanie. Medical examiner," she offers.

"Sweet."

She smiles to herself. Such a big child.

They approach the yellow tape and she spots a couple of familiar uniforms who know to let her through.

"Beckett," Ramirez grunts with a nod.

"Officer." She nods. "How's Mrs. Ramirez?" she asks, making small talk as she ducks under the tape.

"Maria's good. I'll tell her you said hello." He gives her a small smile, which she delights in. Ramirez had been the slowest to warm up to her since she started shadowing Lanie and the boys at the 12th.

"Beckett, is he with you?" Ramirez asks, broad palm pressed against Castle's chest. He looks a little disgusted with the writer.

"Another civilian." She shrugs. "He can stay out there until I'm done," she says slyly with the twitch of her lips.

"Beckett," he huffs in disbelief.

"Tell you what, Castle. If you pop around the corner and buy me a latte, I'll persuade Officer Ramirez to let you through."

"_Or _I could call Gina and strong-arm you into letting me through," he grates.

"But then we'd both be out of a job," she reminds him, eyes glinting.

He pauses, testing the weight of her words. But she doesn't back down, her stance strong and undeterred.

"Fine," he relents, scampering off without another word. She grins.

"Well-played," Ramirez commends her.

She laughs. "Send him my way when he gets back?"

With his nod, she turns away and makes her way to the group of detectives peering down at the body, Lanie kneeled nearby making preliminary observations.

"Beckett," Detectives Ryan and Esposito greet her briefly before they turn back to their conversation, peering over a notebook as they prepare to question a nearby witness.

"Boys." She smiles before taking a knee near Lanie, maintaining a few feet of distance from the body in respect. She prides herself on knowing her place among the cops - how far she can push the envelope or test the boundaries before she crosses the line.

"Thanks for the heads up, Lanie."

"Bring the bottle of wine at our next girl's night and we'll call it even."

Kate grins. "Deal." She nods to the body, a young girl in her twenties dressed in clubbing clothes, her limbs stiff and contorted at her sides as if her bones had been broken. "What's her story?"

"Jane Doe. Looks to be about mid-to late twenties. Cause of death is blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Several bones in her arms and legs were broken post-mortem."

Kate winces. "Yikes. Do you know when she was killed?"

"Sometime last night, most likely between the hours of 10 and midnight."

Kate nods slowly, her teeth sinking into her lip. "Did she-"

"Hey, what'd I miss?" Kate whips around to find Castle standing over her with two coffee cups in hand, a little breathless. He hands her the coffee and flicks his eyes between the two of them, expectant.

Lanie elbows her in the ribs. "Who's this?"

Kate rolls her eyes. "This is Richard Castle. I'll be...working with him over the next few weeks." She frowns. _Working._ If they manage to stop arguing long enough to put words on a page.

"Working, huh? Is that what they're calling it these days?" Kate shoots her a glare, but Lanie doesn't back down. "What? It's about time you started getting busy-"

"Busy writing. Right." Kate cuts her off, a flush creeping up her neck. This is _not _how she imagined this would go.

"I brought this for you," Castle says with a flash of his charming grin, handing the other coffee to Lanie.

"You bought that for yourself, Castle," Kate protests.

"Oh, who cares?" Lanie waves her off. "Coffee is coffee." She takes a long sip, humming in pleasure. "I like you already, Castle."

"At least somebody does," he quips, narrowing his eyes at Kate.

She ignores him, turning back to Lanie. "Can we catch a ride with you back to the morgue?"

"If you don't mind sharing a seat."

"Oh, there's no need for that. Castle can ride with the body."

"Probably better company than you," she hears him mutter under his breath.

"What was that, Castle?" she asks sharply.

"Nothing."

Yeah. Nothing, her ass.

(…)

Unfortunately, riding with the body is _exactly_ up Castle's alley.

He calls out questions like Lanie's running some kind of messed up Q&A, and she just keeps chirping answers back, shooting little smirks over at Kate between each one.

"Will you have to reset anything to do your autopsy?" he asks.

"Possibly," Lanie says easily. "If he got at her collarbone, we'll see. Shards get into the chest cavity, you know. I'd have to extract those."

"That's awesome!"

Kate rolls her eyes and slumps in her seat.

"Oh come on," Lanie says, giving her a look. "He's just excited."

"It's a dead body, not the science fair."

"Same difference," Lanie says with a shrug. "So, dish."

"Later," she hisses, listening for Castle. He's gotten a little too quiet all of a sudden.

"Nu-uh. You tell me why I've got a shadow for my shadow, or I'll make you help."

Kate scoffs but glances behind her all the same. She can just see Castle leaning over the body. The van hits a bump and he nearly topples onto the stiff. He catches himself just in time, looking momentarily flustered before he grins. Like he's on a carnival ride. Honestly.

"Gina's making us co-write a book together," Kate says, deciding that blunt honesty will garner the fewest follow-up questions.

"You're writing a novel with Richard Castle? THE Richard Castle?" Lanie squeaks.

"Lanie," she admonishes. "He's just another author."

"Right, because you always arrange all of your books-" Kate reaches out and slaps her arm. "Oh, are we playing it that way?" Lanie asks.

"We aren't _playing_ anything. I just want to make it through this month with my sanity."

"How do you arrange your books?"

She jumps before whipping her head around to glare at Castle's floating face in the window to the back.

"Sit back down. You'll break your neck," she grumbles.

"Is that concern for my well being I detect?" he asks with a grin.

"Concern for my advance and Lanie's insurance."

"Ah, well, don't worry about that. I'll happily pay the costs," he says with a smug smile.

"Can we help you?" Kate asks.

"Got bored," he offers. "And your conversation seems much more interesting than my ineffectual séance."

"Can't get a good reading on her soul, Mr. Castle?" Lanie interjects, smiling.

"I think it's the GPS on the van. It's interfering," he quips back.

Lanie _laughs_. Ugh.

"So. What happens when we get to the morgue?" he asks, and damn if he doesn't sound sincerely interested.

"Well, we'll wheel the stiff into my morgue, strip her, clean her up, and see what we find as we do," Lanie explains patiently.

Castle bobs his head.

"Do you do this often?"

"My job?" Lanie asks, looking amused.

"No, sorry. You," he clarifies, looking at Kate.

"Some," she offers.

"It doesn't gross you out?" he wonders.

"Nah. Kate here's got a stomach of steel," Lanie puts in. "I think the bodies excite her more than sex some-"

Kate reaches out and slaps her while Castle grins.

"What?" Lanie mouths, looking impish.

Oh, she'll pay for that.

Before she can think of something clever, or hell, even a little bit redeeming, they pull up to the curb beside the morgue.

Lanie jumps out without even a backward glance and Kate sighs, listening as Castle excitedly makes his way to the back doors.

By the time she gets around to the back of the van, Lanie and Castle have already loaded the body out, and are in deep discussion over the internal temperature of the small intestine in relation to lividity.

Without another option, Kate follows them through the double doors and down the hall to the morgue.

"So, you could find a T.O.D. based on the temperature if the intestine was found outside the body?" Castle asks.

"Depending on where it was, if it was your complete last resort, possibly, I suppose," Lanie hedges as they push through the doors and into the sterile, bright white morgue. "But that would be far from ideal."

"Obviously. Interesting, though. Body discovered in part in a room, missing hands, feet, and head, so all you'd have to go by would be non-printable or searchable features."

Lanie stares at him as they get the gurney up and next to the examine table. She shifts her gaze to Kate, wide-eyed.

"He's like the male version of you," she says.

"Hardly," Kate replies, rolling her eyes before shifting into position, leaving Castle at the body's feet. "On three?"

Lanie nods. "One, two, three."

Together, they heft the body onto the table.

She glances at Castle and finds his eyes sparkling. Ah jeez, he _is_ the male her a bit, isn't he? Disgusting.


	5. Chapter 5

**women like that don't become mystery writers**

**Disclaimer: We apologize. We're in college. And there are 29 days until graduation. Emma: EEEEEP. Olivia: SOB. **

**A co-written story from Liviafan1 and FanficwriterGHC**

* * *

**Chapter 5:**

"So what now?" he skips out behind her, the thrill of mystery running through his veins. "The precinct for a little detecting?" He doesn't even bother trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

He can really use this whole working-with-his-hot-nemesis thing to his advantage.

Ahem. In more ways than one.

She laughs. "Sorry, Castle. Not today."

Oh. Damn. "Why not?"

She shrugs, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. God, she's gorgeous. "It's not necessary for me to shadow the detectives on every case. I'd imagine they'd get annoyed with me pretty quickly-a civilian yapping at their heels every second."

She steps out into the street, arm raised in the air to hail a taxi.

"So what, then? You follow them around if a juicy one comes along?" he asks, a little disappointed. He thought she'd be more involved. Eyes and ears into the whole operation and all that.

She smiles a little. "Well, they're all juicy, Castle. But yeah, I guess you could say that."

The cab stops in front of her and she opens the door and slides in. He stands there, a little awkward, unsure of what to do and where to go from here.

She sticks her head out, eyebrows raised. "You comin' or what?"

"Yeah, I-sure."

She rolls her eyes at his uncertainty, but he doesn't miss the way the corners of her mouth twitch as he gets in after her.

"If I were writing this book myself, I'd start outlining tonight, while the case is still fresh in my mind."

"Is that an invitation?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows.

She snorts. "No. I think the phone will suffice."

"You wanna outline over the _phone_? That sounds like a recipe for disaster."

She shrugs. "I think we should make this as painless as possible."

He rolls his eyes. "Considering that idea sounds more pain_ful_ than pain_less_, I'm nixing this plan." He sighs. "Why don't you just come to my place?"

She lifts her eyebrows. "Your place?"

"It's spaghetti night, anyway, and I usually make more than enough. If you're there, you may as well eat."

"Well, how can I resist an invitation like that?"

Her sarcasm isn't lost on him. "Take it or leave it."

She hesitates, turning her head away from him to gaze out the window. "What about your family?" she asks softly, her teeth tugging at her lip. So sexy.

She ducks her head.

Oh, wow. Is she-

She's _shy_.

"Easy to please. And they'll love that you drive me crazy." He blurts it out in his need to put her at ease, the words flying from his lips before he thinks about it twice.

She huffs out a laugh. "Trust me, Castle. The feeling is completely mutual," she throws back, all trace of the shy, vulnerable Kate Beckett dissipating with the roll of her eyes.

But it's too late. He's already made a vow to himself to find her again.

(…)

He's uncharacteristically nervous about taking her home. Or showing her the loft, really, because _taking her home_ sounds like he's about to _bed_ her and as much as he relishes the idea of her writhing beneath him, dark locks spilled across his pillow, breathless with his name, he -

"I think this is the longest time we've spent together where you haven't said a word," she observes with the lift of her eyebrow as he punches the button for the top floor of the building.

He forces a smile. "Just thinking about the book," he lies. "Always writing," he adds hastily.

Her eyes sparkle with amusement. "Right."

His body sags in relief when they reach his door and he really hopes his family is up for entertaining for a while because he is _so _not with it.

Though knowing his chatty mother and charming daughter, it won't be an issue.

"Richard, is that you?" his mother calls from the kitchen. "Alexis and I are simply famished, kiddo. And I know how much you detest my cooking, so I-" She steps out into view, cutting herself short when she notices the brunette beside him.

Martha smiles kindly. "You didn't tell me we'd be having guests."

"This is Kate, mother." He pauses. "My, uh, writing partner." The words slip from his mouth with reluctance and the smirk on Kate's face tells him that his hesitation didn't go unnoticed.

"It's lovely to meet you, dear. Richard simply raved about your writing," she says, shaking the young woman's hand.

Oh, shit.

She shoots him a look and _oh_, they're so talking about this later, before she turns back to his mother, winning smile in place. "Thank you. I hope I'm not intruding."

Martha dismisses her with a wave of her hand, leading them both into the kitchen. "Nonsense. Plenty of room, plenty of food."

"Where's Alexis?" he asks, flicking his gaze around the room.

"Oh, she's got her nose in a book upstairs. Always studying, that one." She shakes her head. "She certainly didn't get that from me."

Kate laughs, her eyes shining in genuine mirth.

Martha, of course, looks positively delighted. "A young woman who laughs at my jokes. Better not let this one go, darling," she says, throwing him a wink.

"I should really get dinner started," he says quickly, wrenching the refrigerator door open without awaiting Kate's reaction.

Yeah, this was a _terrible_ idea. He'll never live this down.

"Sure, sure. Kate and I will just get to know each other. Would you like a glass of wine, dear?" His fist tightens around the handle of the door as his other hand reaches rummages through a draw of vegetables. Not good. But maybe she'll turn her down or -

"I'd love one."

He startles, knocking his head against the door. Oh, fuck.

"You okay there, Rick?" Just the use of his first name and the smug way it rolls off her tongue is enough for him to call the whole thing off right then and there.

But he doesn't dare give her the satisfaction.

"Peachy." He shuts the door and turns around to shoot her a winning smile. "Just peachy."

"Great," she says, smirking.

"Now, dear, tell me. Richard said you're a new acquisition?" his mother says, their voices fading a bit as she leads Kate to the couch.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

He sighs and turns away from them, reaching down into one the cabinets for their largest pot. He might not be able to stop up his mother's train-wreck of a mouth, but he can damn well make Kate Beckett the best spaghetti she's ever tasted.

(...)

"Dad?"

He looks up fifteen minutes later and smiles at his daughter. He takes a step to hug her, then remembers his tomato coated hands and goes for a grin instead.

"Are you-is that homemade sauce?" Alexis asks as she walks over to peer at the pot he's got going on the stove, tomatoes waiting diced on his cutting board.

He hears the chatter in the living room die out.

"Of course it is," he says easily. "I always make it myself."

Alexis scoffs then follows his eyeline over to Kate and his mother, who watch them with amused expressions.

"Ah, right," Alexis says quickly.

"And that, is Richard's charming daughter, Alexis," Martha says, giving Alexis a wave. "Alexis, Kate Beckett."

"Hi," Alexis says.

Kate smiles and stands to walk over to them, and he watches as his kid instantly relaxes. Ugh. No fair.

"Hi," Kate offers, extending a hand. "Nice to meet you."

"You too," Alexis replies.

"I'm your father's new, writing partner, did you say?" she asks, meeting his eyes, entirely too proud of herself.

"Writing partner," Alexis repeats. "That's-new."

"Gina thought it would be a good idea," he offers, hoping Alexis will get the gist.

She turns wide eyes on him. "Really?"

"Yep."

"I'm new to the company, and she thought it might benefit both of us to put our heads together for our next book," Kate adds, shooting him a look.

Smart, hot, and quick. Yeah, no wonder his family likes her already.

"So you're co-writing a book together," Alexis surmises. "That sounds fun."

"Doesn't it just?" Martha offers as she joins them, bringing Kate's wine glass over with her own. "Take a seat, dear."

He watches as Kate settles at the bar, buffeted on either side by his mother and daughter.

It almost looks like she fits in.

"Your grandmother told me you play violin?" Kate asks as Alexis settles in.

"Yeah. Do you play?"

"A little. I traded violin for guitar lessons early on," Kate tells her. "But I liked it."

"I've always wanted to try guitar, but my hands were too small last time I did."

"How old were you?"

"Eight," he supplies as he dumps the tomatoes into the pot. "It was...interesting."

"Dad!" Alexis protests.

"What? You played the bass line for 'Ring of Fire' for a week and then went right back to the violin."

"I-"

"I bet your hands would be big enough now," Kate says, as both she and his mother give him a look.

What?

"I agree, dear," Martha adds.

Alexis gives him a triumphant smile and he realizes suddenly that there are three of them, and only one of him.

The odds just aren't in his favor here.


	6. Chapter 6

**women like that don't become mystery writers**

**Disclaimer: There are now 17 days until graduation. Thought you ought to know.**

**A co-written story from Liviafan1 and FanficwriterGHC**

* * *

**Chapter 6:**

It's like the bat cave.

While he digs for something or other upstairs-a book, maybe? She kind of missed half of what he was saying the minute she spotted his desk.

While he does that, she wanders around his office, fingers trailing along his desk-this great modern thing with knick knacks and scrap notes spread out around his closed laptop. Richard Castle's desk.

A part of her—the very girly, fan part of her—is squealing.

She shakes her head and spots a few framed photos on the mantle behind the desk. Photos of him. Jeez, he's got photos of himself in his office.

She moves from the desk to the bookshelves, trying to convince herself that his arrogance far negates the wonder of seeing his desk, where he wrote all of those books, the books she—

He has full wall bookshelves. Double sided, full wall bookshelves. And shit, is that a first edition Hemingway?

The spread is incredible. She thinks she might be able to live in this office, reading book after book, and never get bored.

But then she'd be living in Richard Castle's office. And he may be her favorite writer, but he's an enormous ass.

With an absolutely lovely family. Honestly, how does a man so childish and irritating raise a daughter like that, and mostly on his own?

Alexis is adorable, and well spoken. She reminds Kate of what her mother used to say she was like, but she can't remember ever being. Poised, together, delightful—his daughter is just simply a delight. And that's really not fair at all.

If his daughter were stuck up, like him, or rude, like him, or just...as completely insufferable, maybe she wouldn't feel that big brick wall chipping at the back of her mind.

There's got to be some good in him for him to have a kid like that.

"God, you'd think finding my own book wouldn't be so hard. But there are just so many of them to go through."

Or maybe the kid is a complete fluke and he's really just an ass with an ego ten miles long.

"You went to look for your own book."

He nods and gestures to the couch, following her just a hair too closely as she slowly sits down. He plops down right beside her, eager as a cocker spaniel, and flips the book open.

"I had this idea once. Made a mention of it in _Storm's Break_." He turns a few pages then taps one triumphantly. "Ha. Here: '_Storm wondered idly if it were even possible to fall down a manhole like that.'"_

Kate stares at him and he looks back, weirdly proud of himself.

"That's what you left me down here for? A line about falling in a manhole? The body we saw today wasn't anywhere near a manhole."

"Yes. But!" He taps the page again, like she's supposed to divine his meaning out of the manic tempo of his fingers. "What if her killer fell down a manhole, broke his neck, and died."

"Then the case is over," Kate supplies.

Ten Bestsellers? Is Gina sure he didn't pay someone off to write them?

"Ah, but what if he was a hitman?"

"A hitman."

"Yes!" She holds back a smile at the sight of his blatant enthusiasm, those blue eyes all lit up and bright with excitement. "The hitman falls down a manhole, thus cutting the detectives off from their main source."

Kate pauses. It's not half bad, and certainly an inventive enough way for someone to off themselves.

And hitting dead ends, well, she's good with those, isn't she?

"Alright," she concedes. He whoops. The child. "Alright. So it's a hit then. A violent hit."

"Likes to leave a signature, but he always gets the job done," Castle says, nodding at her.

"So...someone wanted her dead. Someone high up?"

"Of course. S'no fun if it's a bookie or something."

"Though infinitely more surprising," Kate counters.

"You want to write the book about the bookie who hires a hitman to kill his what, girlfriend, mistress? Talk about low stakes, Beckett."

"Murder is always high stakes," she snaps. Shit.

He considers her, eyes narrowed for a moment. She lets him look, keeping her face impassive, and after a minute, he gives up.

"Be that as it may, I think, for our purposes, shooting for a Best Seller here, we should aim high."

"Fine," she says. The bookie angle isn't any good anyway. "So, he's—"

"Or she," he puts in, cheeky grin already in place.

"Or she," she grits out. "Is some kind of big—what? Politician, official?"

"Well, who's our girl," he asks, tossing his feet up onto the coffee table. "Are we going with the exact details of Lanie's stiff, or are we getting a bit more creative?"

"Young, white Jane Doe too boring for you?" she wonders, eyeing his feet. It's a nice coffee table.

"No, but, what's her story?"

"I thought we were figuring out the killer," she grouses, shifting around and sinking into the unfairly comfortable, buttery leather couch.

He tosses his book onto the coffee table, giving her look like he knows exactly how comfortable his couch is. "I usually work from the bottom up," he admits. "Get a little excited by the killer sometimes, but building it back from the body is easier than building forward. At least in my, admittedly vast, experience."

She rolls her eyes and toes out of her heels before plopping her feet up onto the table. "Me too," she admits.

Ugh, that smile. Smug bastard. It's not like it's the secret to mystery writing or anything.

"Alright. So, our vic. Jane Doe. Maybe she's a little older than mid twenties."

"Thirties?"

"Even forties. Are we set on a woman?"

"You want to change the gender too?" she asks, catching his eyes as they flick over her. Seriously. He's checking her out now?

"Well, forties, male. Maybe he was on the way back from work, going home to dinner with the family."

"Seems pretty average. Not really the big bang you were looking for," she counters.

"You said it yourself. Murder is always high stakes, right? Not coming home for dinner's just as bad as not making it to the helipad."

She stiffens and he notices, her silence too long to be written off as humming over his words. He doesn't say anything, seemingly content with watching her squirm.

"Sounds like something you'd read about tucked into a corner of the newspaper that nobody reads."

She flushes under his intense gaze, his curiosity lingering over her reaction to his words.

"But wouldn't you agree that it's important to remain true to life?" he asks. And of course he's absolutely right. That was one of the reasons his books had helped her through the all the heartache—they were _real_.

"It should be fused with excitement, of course—no one ever picks up a book to escape _into _reality, but it's the moments of truth that make it so easy to fall in love." He pauses, his eyes a little starry now, swept up in the poetry of it all. "With a novel I mean," he adds hastily.

"Right." She clears her throat, shifting her gaze to a spot on the wall. "I agree," she says softly.

"Good." She turns back in time to catch his smile. His genuine smile that crinkles at the corners of his eyes and makes him look an adorable, pleased little boy.

Oh, man.

"We should be writing this down." She lifts her feet from the coffee table and reaches for her bag, pulling her laptop from its snug pocket.

"Memory loss at your age?" he teases.

She rolls her eyes. "Don't be cute, old man." Her fingers nudge the track pad, bringing the screen to life.

"I'll skip over your commentary about my age since you called me cute."

"That's nice, Castle. I'm sure your ego really needs that boost," she says wryly.

He shrugs. "Couldn't hurt."

She hums her response, distracted as she opens a new document and dashes off what they've come up with so far, including the facts of the real case involving Jane Doe. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him lean over, peering into the screen. His shoulder is warm against hers as his breath fans across her jaw. She manages to suppress a shiver, but her keystrokes have stopped, her fingers halting along with her inability to focus at the hands of his proximity.

"Do you always use that font?"

She presses Enter a little too forcefully. "Yes." She pauses, wants to cut her eyes to his, but he's still only mere inches away and she's really not in a place to play with fire. "Is that a problem?"

"It's just—_Garamond?_ C'mon, Beckett. It's so old and stuffy." He shudders, leaning back into his own space. She closes her eyes, disguising her relief with her annoyance at his judgment.

"Well, I'm sorry that my font is too _boring_ for you, Castle. I like the way it looks on the page." She rolls her eyes. "You probably use something ridiculous like Comic Sans, don't you?"

He scoffs. "No. Times New Roman." He puffs his chest out proudly.

She lets out a disbelieving laugh. "And _I'm _the stuffy one? At least I'm original. You're just a lame old default."

He narrows his eyes. "I think the word you're looking for is classic."

"Or stale," she throws back. Are they seriously arguing over _fonts_, right now? This is ridiculous. Seconds ago she wanted to jump his bones and now she wants to _crush_ his bones.

As he sits there ticking off the reasons on his fingers that his choice is _far superior to hers, _she wonders how in the hell she's going to make it through this next month without falling into his bed or murdering him in his sleep.

Then again, she's always been an adept multi-tasker.

No reason why she can't do both.


	7. Chapter 7

**women like that don't become mystery writers**

**Disclaimer: We graduated from college, then one of us had wisdom teeth removed, and the other is working like a fiend...**

**A co-written story from Liviafan1 and FanficwriterGHC**

* * *

**Chapter 7:**

Eventually, they agree on Cambria and manage to eek out a paltry outline. No killer. No definitive motive. Just a dead Jane Doe in an alley and a hired killer down a manhole, a semblance of protocol and a tentative sketch of their yet un-gendered protagonist.

So far, they've got: tall, badass (his, not hers), smart, quick, attractive, and damn good at the job.

It's hardly Hemingway.

And it took them five freaking hours.

Kate stretches as Castle stands and cracks his back, a yawn splitting his face. She watches as his shirt rides up, exposing the smooth lower plane of his back.

She is just too tired to even pretend to fight it at this point. Writer man (boy, more like) is pretty hot.

"You know what I could totally go for about now?"

She pulls her eyes from his back just in time for him to swivel around to face her, an irritatingly adorable sleepy smile on his face.

"What?"

"A giant sundae," he says with relish, his eyes sparkling. "Can I tempt you?"

"It's—" she glances around him to the clock on top of his LED screen. "It's nearly two, Castle. Ice cream. Really?"

"Don't tell me that on top of your deplorable font choices and astounding lack of fidgeting, you have a thing against sugar too?"

He honestly looks a little put out. Her stomach grumbles and she sighs. "Fine. Bring it on."

"Well, don't do me any favors," he says with a laugh, gesturing for her to precede him out into the living room. "Far be it from me to shove good ice cream and toppings down your throat."

"I'll shove something down your throat," she mutters to herself. His snort tells her that, as usual, her exhaustion has lowered her internal monitors.

He guides her to the island, his hand gentle and light on her back.

She sits and watches as he produces three pints of ice cream from the freezer, two disturbingly large bowls, and an entire box that looks like it's filled expressly with sundae toppings.

"Okay," he says, rubbing his hands together. "We've got chocolate chips, peanut butter cup bites, peanuts, sprinkles, snow caps, gummy bears, gummy worms, white chocolate shavings, heath bar bits, coconut shavings, brownie bites, and what look like malted milk balls. Huh, must be mother's."

Kate stares at him.

"What?"

"I—you keep all of that on hand?" she asks, watching with wide eyes as he doubles back into the fridge, returning with whipped cream and a jar of maraschino cherries.

"It's a sundae bar," he replies, like having Willy Wonka's reject toppings bin is completely normal. "You've got to be prepared."

"For the surprise diabetics anonymous meeting?"

He smirks. "Ah, but if they're the diabetics anonymous, why are they eating sundaes?"

She blinks. "Lent."

He stops short and lets out a loud laugh before reaching out and grabbing an ice cream scoop.

"Pick your poison. Ladies' choice," he says with a flourish, pulling off the tops of the pints. "Chocolate, vanilla, and cookie dough."

"Oh, God, just vanilla."

"Boring," he mutters, but valiantly goes ahead, scooping four massive scoops into her bowl. When she tries to protest he gives her a look more serious than anything she's seen so far.

"Thank you," she capitulates, taking the bowl from him.

He nods then rests his elbows on the counter as she reaches out for the toppings.

"What?" she asks, her hand stalled over the snow caps, feeling suddenly insecure, like this is some sort of test or something.

"Nothing," he says, raising a shoulder. "Go on."

She narrows her eyes at him, but he simply gives her an innocent smile. Fine. Fine, he wants to see what she'll eat? She can be ridiculous. She can be over the top, and "fresh," and "hip."

Gummy worms, snow caps, peanut butter cup bites, white chocolate shavings, and malted milk balls—that ought to—

"Where's the chocolate syrup?" she asks, looking up to find him watching her gleefully.

"What? Oh!" He spins around and procures a bottle of Hershey's syrup from the fridge. "My bad."

"The bad is yours, you mean," she mumbles as she pops the top and gives herself a liberal helping.

Good God. She hasn't eaten anything this vile and disgusting and awesome in—what was she the last time, twelve?

"The bad is mine?"

She looks up as she licks a bit of wayward syrup from her finger. His eyes darken a hair and she smirks, pulling it out of her mouth with a soft pop. "Your grammar," she offers.

"My what?"

Really, some chocolate syrup and the sundae of an unsupervised three-year-old. That's what does it for him.

"My Latin teacher used to make us say it. The grammatically correct version of

'my bad,' is 'the bad is mine.'" she explains with a shrug. "Spoon?"

"Right," he says, taking a moment before he grabs one and hands it to her.

Then he just stands there. "Aren't you going to make one for yourself?" she asks.

"Right!"

She settles down onto one of the stools and pulls the massive bowl over, taking a spoonful of ice cream, syrup, milk balls, chocolate shavings and one gummy worm. Oh, she is going to be so sick in the morning.

To her credit, however, Castle's sundae is quickly piling up with everything hers has, and more. Gummy bears on top of worms, chocolate chips and snow caps, five cherries, and—

"Hey!" she exclaims, spoon halfway to her mouth. "I didn't get any whipped cream."

"Sorry," he says immediately, leaning over to squirt some onto her ice cream. His finger slips and he manages to spray a long line over the counter before he gets to her bowl. "Whoops."

He bites his lips and carefully gives her a surprisingly respectable portion. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Don't' worry. I'm sure it happens to a lot of guys," she offers, scooping a little bit of cream onto her spoon before taking her first bite. "Oh my God," she mumbles as he glares at her. "That's—fantastic."

The glare flips to a grin and he beams at her, taking his own spoonful. He holds it out to her and waits until she takes another. "To a successful night's work."

"We barely managed to get a first chapter outline," she argues, holding her spoon back.

"Ah, but we managed a first chapter outline," he counters. "It's the little victories."

"Hardly a victory."

"Will you please toast with me? It's two in the morning, woman."

She gives him a look for 'woman.'

Then again, it _is_ two in the morning, and she's honestly surprised they made it through as much as they did, really.

With a sigh, she reaches out and clinks over-laden spoons with him. "Fine, to an outline."

They each take a bite, letting out simultaneous groans.

"Was that so hard?" he asks cheekily, licking syrup from his spoon.

She rolls her eyes and takes another bite.

They didn't really get that much done. But, then again, if every session ends with this kind of treatment, she might be able to get used to writing with Richard Castle.

His eyes twinkle at her as she hums around her spoon.

Oh hell. She might actually be able to get used to writing with Richard Castle.


End file.
